Beauty and the Beast
by Centrau guardian
Summary: In this age where magic is a fable and monsters are only myth, does fairytale love exist outside of the pages it's written on? Or have even roses forgotten their value? Modern re-telling.


Chapter One

It was crisp, she noted, holding the wine delicately on her tongue. Crisp and tantalisingly sweet, with just the faint hint of sun-dried berries.

Or so the seller had told her. Personally she thought it crude-tasting, like the ale her father was so greedily guzzling down. Mind, she'd never had much of a stomach for wines; she favoured the lighter tasting spirits. As long as there was about half a glass of lemonade to take the paint-thinning edge off.

Such was the burden of being a lady of high society though; along with the exquisitely cut turquoise dress she was working so hard not to crease. Though the dress itself wasn't much of an inconvenience …

Her sister leant delicately to the side, daintily patting her stained-lips dry with an embroidered napkin. "Do try to engage in the conversation, dear Beauty. I'm afraid your date is beginning to bore," she murmured behind a smiling façade, pretending that the others at the table couldn't her, even as their eyes glanced towards them.

And that was the crux of the matter of course; her date was beginning to bore.

Beauty shifted irritated eyes towards him. In her opinion, his being bored wasn't really a problem with her ability to converse, but rather his inability to think of anything worth conversing about. He'd had plenty of occasions to bring her into discussion; she'd struggled to open topics with him throughout the whole meal. But if the man had even one modicum of intelligence underneath that greasy black hair of his then she would not only apologise for doubting him, she'd also happily strip before them and perform the can-can in her garter belt.

The idea was becoming slightly less repulsive the longer she thought about it. At least it would give these people something more to talk about than whether winter hunting was better than summer hunting.

As if any of them really cared. As if any of them really hunted. Oh they might boast their achievement and hang their prizes upon the walls but the silent truth was that all of them sent for the taxidermist and bought his most fearsome wares. It was truly and undoubtedly pathetic.

A royal pity none of them actually hunted. Maybe a few knocks to the head would bash some sense into those frail growths they called brains.

"Ah, Beauty!" Her name dashed her bored thoughts from her, and she straightened as she tried to feign interest. "You have some knowledge of the subject. Do Snow Hares truly only appear when there is snow?"

"Oh Father, Beauty has no real understanding of the subject! All her learning is book-knowledge! It can hardly match up to the real thing!" Her sister simpered as she held lightly on to the arm of the blushing man beside her.

Beauty threw a hard glare at her sister. Book-knowledge indeed. That aside, she wasn't an idiot. Since when did animals magickly appear at the beginning of a season and disappear at the end of it?

"I do believe," she began, determined to phrase it in some inoffensive way. "That the Snow Hare infact does exist all year round, but it only gains it's white coat as the air freezes, so it appears a new species comes with the snow." There. Finally an intelligent thought had been added to the topic of the moment. Perhaps now she could…

"Oh don't be silly!" her other sister exclaimed, a pitying look upon her face. "Fur can't just change colour you know! You speak as if they have rabbit hair dye or something!" She tittered gently and the flaxen-haired man beside her let out a full-bodied laugh in agreement.

"Yes Beauty, do make sure to think before you speak next time," her father frowned at her in startled disappointment.

Oh for the love of…

She plastered a dazzling smile on her lips, "Oh yes, of course! It must have been some fairytale I read somewhere. Do excuse me my silliness," as I throw my plate at your fat heads.

A stumbling snore burped out from the man beside her.

It was going to be a long, long night, she sighed.

Almost two hours later, though it felt like far more, Beauty found herself seated in the silver limousine her father always brought out for evenings like this. The man himself was sat directly in front of the small mini-bar tucked away in the side of the interior, happily throwing back more drinks after the careful sobriety of the dinner. His toupee was sliding off, revealing the bright, shiny bald patch emblazoned on his skull. The remaining strands of blonde hair that were his own had dulled with age and fatigue, the roots greying as time went by. She noted with disgust that his waistcoat was un-buttoned and gravy stains were ruining the front of his pressed white shirt. No doubt he would stumble into the estate, before falling flat on his face sodden with the amount of beer he had so eagerly consumed.

A giggle distracted her, and she glanced distractedly to the other end of the long car. Her eldest sister, Charlene, oldest of them all, currently sat with her date's (Phillipe? Beauty wondered. She didn't think he'd ever actually been introduced to her) hand tucked into the front of her skirt. Beauty was always shocked at Charlene's audacity; it wasn't the first time they'd been sat in the limo while her sister was fondled most intimately by the man she had chosen for that evening. In truth, Charlene seemed to always be found with some man somewhere near her crotch, though it was always so carefully ignored. With her luxurious curling blonde hair and piercingly blue-eyes (not to mention her rather ample torso), it was no wonder the eldest of them was also the most successful with men.

Their other sister, Meryl, had chosen to leave with her date for the evening. At least Charlene had the decorum to pretend she would be going home to bed (though, in essence, that was what she was going to do). Meryl's promiscuous ways would get them in deep levels of trouble some day soon. She was near identical to her older sister, with the exception of a small mole on her upper-lip, that she enthusiastically claimed to be a mark of the most beautiful individuals of all.

Quite frankly, Beauty had been glad when her date for the evening had almost fallen over himself to concoct a reason to go home instead of remaining with her for the evening. She'd already prepared one of her own, so quickly made her own apologies when he seemed to come up short.

She sighed. It wasn't that he'd been an ugly man; indeed, he'd been quite handsome and she was never one to shy from flirtation if she felt the occasion was proper.

But Beauty was a happy romanticist. She believed in love and connections, gallantry and chivalrous deeds.

And dear God the man could not hold a conversation if he'd had the script in front of him!

She wasn't prepared to sell herself short either. It may have been her first date in a long while and yes, she was well-aware her sisters out-shone her with her red hair and hazel eyes. But quite frankly if she was going to give up her life to be with a man she'd much rather he thought with his brain than other, lower body parts.

The limo began to turn into the small unloading area directly in front of the door to their mansion. A low rumble of gravel warned her sister and her most inquisitive gentleman friend of their approach, and Beauty glanced away as they pulled reluctantly apart. Her father didn't notice that they had arrived until the brakes sent him tumbling back into the couch at the side, sloshing yet another small vodka all over his fine evening-wear.

She had to remember to apologise to their driver, she noted mentally, before stepping delicately out of the door held open by their butler.

It was then she knew something was wrong. Henry, as his name was, cast a worried eye on her, and his respectful nod was tempered with anxiety. He was a good man, kind to her; she had always thought of him as a dear friend and knew he considered her his daughter in everyway that mattered.

So she was surprised to see him turn away, despondency written across his face.

A shove from behind reminded her of the family stuck behind her. She'd stood in the doorway of the car for a good minute now, unmoving in her sudden, inconceivable terror. The push from her father sent her stumbling forwards, Henry reaching out swiftly to catch her elbow so she could keep her feet.

"I say, Beauty! Whatever has gotten in to you! Standing in the way like that! I certainly didn't raise you to be so rude!" Father pulled his lop-sided toupee into position, then tugged it to sit crookedly to the other side, before stomping (drunkenly, which is a rather amusing sight) over the gravelled drive to storm up the front steps.

The door swung open before he reached it, causing him to stumble in surprise, as a large, barrel-chested man stepped out into the light of the illuminated porch.

"Mr Forge, I presume?" The intruder's voice rumbled out like thunder on a stormy evening, heralding danger in the night to come.

Father stood, mouth agape at this titan pillared before him. "I… um… well… yes… I suppose?"

The man nodded, the leathery skin on his face unsmiling as he observed the man staring up at him. No hint of expression came from him at all.

"Father?" Charlene and her date had finally vacated the limo. A bewildered expression coloured her sister's face, and Beauty would have laughed if the situation were not so serious.

For it seemed she alone had noticed the uniform of this man. She alone had read the badge embroidered on his thick shoulder.

She alone knew who he was. And most terrible a thing to carry alone, this burden of knowing their fate.

For this man, with the bars and dollar insignia emblazoned on his pristine suit, was the Taxman.

And he only visited those who couldn't pay.

--

A modern re-telling of the fairytale. And no, Beauty is not going to be who you'd expect her to be in this tale. Let me know what you think so far!


End file.
